Pulse
by Jacynthe Demorae
Summary: UltraViolet H.G.V. made him fast, but time and regret are faster still. Expansion of the 'Memories' scene. Mild GarthxViolet


Characters and concepts of UltraViolet belong to Kurt Wimmer, Screen Gems, and other legal/corporate entities. This fanwork was created to entertain myself and other fans. No profit has been made, and no challenge to copyright is intended.

Pulse  
by Jacynthe Demorae

Like most hemophages, Garth paid little public attention to the human calendar, to human milestones or sorrows. For his kind, there was only the slow trickle of their personal hourglass, marking their accelerated descent into death.

In his own space, however, Garth kept track of the holidays and anniversaries. The calendar was his one real tie to his old life, and having lost everything else, he refused to give it up. So he knew tonight marked the opening of the city's annual opera festival, celebrated with a glorious fireworks display and free performances in all the major parks. In contrast, the blues festival was winding down, moving from the grand tour houses to smaller, more intimate clubs.

He was a scientist, not a poet, but he felt a pang at that thought. Blue, the color of a faded violet. And she _was_ fading, despite all his efforts. Her twelve years had dwindled into less than a day and he was nowhere near ready to let her go. Transfusions bought her only a few more hours now, and soon even that would stop working. Worst of all, Violet seemed to have given up.

The boy she'd risked so much to bring him lay asleep on the bench seat, covered with a blanket. Violet herself sat upright, weaving a little in a queasy half-doze. Garth reached over and gently took hold of her right wrist. Always the right wrist with her, never the left if he could help it. He hated looking at the graceful tattoos twining up her long fingers.

_Comrade. Lover. Wife_.

Wife to a man who'd never looked for her, who'd abandoned her to the camps, to the disease, to a cold, lonely death. A man who didn't deserve her, or the marks of fidelity she carried on her skin. She still traced the inky lines when she thought no-one was watching. Still upholding her tie to a man who'd been too eager to cut his.

Garth took an iron grip on his emotions, pushing them back. Only Violet mattered, with her fragile, fading strength and crumbling will. Violet, whom he might still be able to save, if he could just wring out a little more time.

He touched his fingertips to the pulse point at her wrist, cupping his watch in his free hand. Her pulse fluttered under his fingers, sluggish and weak, as if her blood had grown too thick and heavy for her heart to stir. He could imagine the toxins building up, layer by microscopic layer. The same factor that increased their physical sensitivity and boosted their healing also wore out their bodies faster. Violet was sliding into organ failure. If he found the cure itomorrow/i, it still might not be--

He glanced up, saw her watching him through half-closed eyes. Even the low light couldn't hide the sallowness of her skin, not from him. She _looked_ sick, queasy as a flu victim on a roller coaster. He loosened his grip just a bit, and her wrist slid free. Sick, and exhausted, but if she slept now, she might sleep the rest of her life away.

He rested his chin on his forearm. It hurt to look at her, to see his failure set out so plain. 'You don't look so good," he said, proud his voice hadn't shook. "I need to transfuse you."

She nodded, glanced down at the sleeping boy. At the _useless_ boy. Garth wrestled down his anger and resentment. None of this was fair, not to the hemophages, not to this kid the Archministry had chosen to play around with. Wailing about it just ate up time none of them had.

He held out his hand and she took it, a clear sign of her weakened state. Normally, Violet would glare and brush past him. But now...

It was one of the ironies of their condition. The virus made his perceptions painfully acute, gave him greater strength, fortitude, and speed. But no matter how fast he moved, he couldm't reach the cure on that distant glimmering horizon. Not in time. And even if he could, Violet wouldn't wait.

-end-


End file.
